friends, but would you ruin me in the
estimation of the public?"

"No, I will say nothing to the public. I will tell your daughter."

McElwin started. His mind had been so directly fixed upon the public
that he had not thought of his home. Being the master there he could
command respect, and it was on the tip of his tongue now to say that
his daughter would not believe Lyman, but, as if a bitter taste had
suddenly arisen in his mouth, he felt that this man's word out-weighed
his own. He had a strong hope that when his daughter should be set
free and left to choose at will, her judgment would finally settle
upon Sawyer. But he knew that should she be convinced that her father
had counciled him to engage the services of lawless men or had even
connived at the brutal procedure--he knew that, convinced of this, she
would turn in scorn upon Sawyer and, in a moment, wreck the plans that
it had taken years to build.

"Mr. Lyman," he said, "I admit that I am largely to blame, and I now
throw myself upon your mercy, sir. Please don't tell my daughter."

All his dignity and arrogance had vanished, and the chair creaked
under him. His brown beard, usually so neatly trimmed, looked ragged
now, and his eyes, which Lyman had thought were full of sharp and
cutting inquiry, now looked dull and questionless. "I throw myself
upon your mercy," he repeated.

"Then, sir, you knock my props from under me," Lyman replied. "I am
not equipped with that firmness which men call justice. Nature
sometimes makes sport of a man by giving him a heart. And what does it
mean? It means that he shall suffer at the hands of other men, and
that when his hour for revenge has come, his over-grown heart rises up
and commands him to be merciful. McElwin, I ought to publish you--I
ought to tell your wife and daughter that you have conspired with
ruffians to have me whipped from the town, but I will not. You may go
now."

The banker's arrogance flew back to him. "You may go" were words that
pierced him like a three-pronged fork, but he controlled himself, for
now his judgment was stronger than his dignity. He arose and stepped
up close to Lyman. "I am under deep obligations to you," he said.
"You are a kind and generous man."

"Why don't you say that you are thankful to find me a fool?"

McElwin took no notice of this remark. "And I hope that I may be able
to do something for you," he said. Still he stood there, as if he had
not struck the proper note.